


Lacking Honour

by SatelliteFool



Category: Dishonored (Video Games), Dreaming of Sunshine - Silver Queen, Naruto
Genre: AGAIN?, Enough demand could make me revive this, Gen, Reincarnation, Shikako reborn into a different series, Steampunk, Transplanted from the Recursive Forum, theoretically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-14
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-08-02 05:54:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16299398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SatelliteFool/pseuds/SatelliteFool
Summary: The "Jewel of the South at the Edge of the World", they call it.





	Lacking Honour

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Vireo Attano is born on the streets of Karnaca.

The "Jewel of the South at the Edge of the World", they call it.

She would've called it 'ridiculously humid', or 'full of wildlife that is trying to kill you _with moxy_ '. But then, nobody asked her.

Its chief industries are mining and _whaling_. She's not a fan of that last one, although as her protests quieten in the face of what actually passes for a 'whale' in this world – _three times the size of a sperm whale, with teeth like spires_.

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Her sister Beatrici raises her and, later, her brother Corvo as well. She learns to love them; something she can never quite do for her parents.

Her father is a… non-issue. A large, well-built man, who dies a few years into her life. An accident at the lumber mill, they say.

It hits Beatrici hardest. Corvo is too young to really process what's happening and Vireo doesn't… get attached quite so easily these days. Beatrici though? She was a daddy's girl. She quietly cries through the burial.

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Two days after the funeral, their landlord shows up with letter of eviction – " _workers' accommodation only," they say._

She'd always thought there was something _off_ about this place, but now? Now she knows the word.

 _'Victorian._ '

Her mother escapes the Debtor's Prison – a _Workhouse, by any other name_ – by running to the church.

_How do the masks not give it away?_

The Abbey of the Everyman is not a nice place, in spite of the alternative. Her mother doesn't see it – she's always been devout, but now faith has blinded her.

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Beatrici is the first to leave.

They find a note, scrawled with apologies for her siblings and _venom_ for her mother. Vireo doesn't understand, at first. Then, she learns about the marriage – the _arranged_ marriage – and decides that she doesn't blame her sister for leaving.

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She's twelve when she decides to follow her sister's example. For much the same reason – over the same man, even.

_He's forty two. What is **wrong** with you people?_

_-_

_-_

_-_

Corvo refuses to accompany her – _"won't do that to mum" he says, more resigned than resolved_ – but doesn't stop her from leaving.

It's the first time she's ever seen him cry.

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The streets take on a different, familiar light. The scent of blood in the air **_wakes_** something in her that's been sleeping for _far too long._

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She's a pickpocket for a while, working for the Howlers – ' _you don't pick so much as a penny without their say so'_ , she's told. She doesn't mind all that much. Her cut is fair and her fence is a nice enough woman that reeks of tobacco and has a voice like eight-packs-a-day.

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Violence has a way of following you. Even when you try to avoid it.

A man with slicked back hair and gaunt cheekbones, leers at her from across the room.

"How much?"

"She's not for sale" Jodie answers on her behalf. She palms Vireo a few coins. Not much of a take today – _not much to take today. Not unless they start letting her rob nobles_.

"We're in a whore house," he sneers, lurching forward. "Everything's for sale".

Every _thing.  
_

Vireo's eyes narrow. Not at the words – _she's heard that and worse_ – but at him. Drunk and horny with just a little bit of _murder_ in his eyes _._ Dangerous, but not uncommon.

His footsteps are another story. _They make no sound._

Jodie pushes herself off from the wall. Her posture slouched, relaxed even. Yet, somehow, everything about her holds the promise of _extreme and immediate_ violence. "Yara, I'm warning you. You got a' good thing going with us, but you need to _take your shit and go fuck someone els_ –" she doesn't get a chance to finish as 'Yara' slams the pommel of his blade into her chin.

She reels back, her head bouncing off of the wall as her assailant falls into a form – _formally trained, then_.

_He's going to kill her._

Vireo doesn't think. She just steps inside the man's thrust and redirects it with a flick of a knife.

Disoriented, but no longer reeling, Jodie _snarls_ as the blade misses her by _inches_ , embedding itself within the wall.

"You're _fucking dead Yara._ "

Yara ignores her. Out of the two of them, he's decided that Vireo, the wiry _teenager_ is the bigger threat.

_Smart._

It doesn't save him.

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Jodie eyes the girl as she wipes the blood from her blade _s_ – _Yara never realised she had two. Not until it was too late to matter._

She motions to a few of the girls. Tomorrow, Yara's body will be found in the middle of a blood-fly nest. If the guards actually bother with the paperwork, they'll inevitably label it as 'just another idiot drunkenly stumbling into a nest'

_Happens all the time._

"You just do knives?" she asks.

Vireo checks edge of a knife and smiles, apparently satisfied. "I dabble." She says, slotting them back into the nooks and crannies of her outfit. _Well hidden._ Jodie wouldn't have known they were there if she hadn't seen them. "You pick things up here and there, you know?"

She laughs. _Bullshit._ Jodie knows the difference between a cutthroat and a proper, balls to the wall, _Assassin_. She doesn't know _how_ , but this girl is _it_ ; _zero fucking question_.

"Well, little miss dabbler. A vacancy just opened up that I think would be just _perfect_ for you."

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To her immense surprise, Vireo _isn't_ being asked to assassinate someone. Which is… nice, she supposes.

'The Blade Verbena' is an annual Karnaca festival where the greatest swordsmen from all across the Empire of the Isles demonstrate their skill in a tournament; single blade, no other weapons allowed.

The Howlers, of course, are planning to rig it.

 ~~Yara's~~ Vireo's job here is simple. Go out there looking like ~~a drunk with delusions of grandeur~~ a scared little girl and utterly flummox the bookmakers while her odds are still long.

Then, as they start to catch on, the Howlers all bet against her and she throws the semi-finals.

_"For your own good anyway." Jodie says inhaling half a rollup in a single breath. "They always throw the champions into the Royal Guard. Sometimes the finalists too. Better to just take what you can and get out."_

She'd shrugged. Throwing a fight would hardly be the worst thing she'd ever done.

She'd always hated 'honourable duels' anyway.

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Funnily enough, the hardest match is the one she has to throw.

 _Oh_ , not because of _pride_ or anything as equally _trite_. She means it's physically difficult to lose _convincingly_.

She lets a downwards swing sail past her and has to palpably restrain herself from punching her opponent in the gut with her free hand, dancing backwards instead.

She slouches, bored. Kakashi-sensei minus the book.

"Get on with it!" somebody hollers.

_I'm trying._

"Finish him off!" someone else insists.

_You know what? Maybe I should just surrender. It's pretty hot today. I could probably blame it on heatstroke or something._

Her opponent, a boy, perhaps a few years older than her, is obviously a noble. His clothes are ornate and freshly dyed in a way that suggests today is the first time they're being worn. His posture, even now, is regal _._ Not like the Daimyō exactly, but also _exactly_ _like_ the Daimyō. And his Stance? Formal. A little sloppy.

Vireo doesn't know him, or his story.

But, she can guess:

_Rich kid reads about famous warriors and generals and gets stars in his eyes. Begs daddy to buy him a nice expensive instructor. Daddy says 'yes'. Spends a few months – maybe a year, tops – under some poor unfortunate teacher before eventually deciding that he too, was now a 'Master of the Blade'. And where else should a master swordsman go to show off their 'skills' except the Blade Verbena?_

Vireo gives him a lopsided smirk.

 _You've been very lucky to get this far._   _And,_ she thinks,  _it looks like your luck is going to hold._

He scowls at her from behind floppy bangs that offend her on an almost _visceral_ level. Vireo's hair is short these days, but even when it wasn't, she'd _never_ have let it fall across her sightlines. Sensor or not.

"You mock me."

_You don't need my help with that.  
_

As she bats away another thrust, her eyes begin to wander. She smiles as she glances Jodie, mouthing obscenities at her from the stands. Well, she didn't _know_ that they're obscenities, but this was Jodie so she _absolutely did know that_.

_Screw it._

"I yield!"

The arena falls silent.

Her opponent's jaw works up and down, words failing to materialise.

 _Well,_ she thinks. _I've really done it now._

Eventually, somebody finds their voice.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me!"

The dam breaks and the crowd _thunders_ outrage. It rolls out across the stands, enveloping every participant.

Save one.

Vireo spots Jodie, standing stock still. The Howlers had worked _very_ hard to rig the Blade Verbena – _parts of it anyway_ – but this?

This might be a little on the nose, even for them.

A proctor strides forward and asks, " _What._ Is the meaning of this?"

Vireo decides on the truth, which isn't  _quite_ the same as honesty.

"I'm bored" she says, her tone disaffected as she scuffs her foot against the dirt. "This tournament is _boring me."_

As if to illustrate her point _,_ she plants her sabre in the ground, abandoning it.

_Ha, 'the point'._

The 'winner' snarls, lunging for her.

"I _will not_ be made a _fool_ of by _common vermin!_ "

_Rude._

She pivots, letting the blade pass her by as she kicks the boy's feet out from under him. Using her foot to flick his blade – engraved, _of course_ – away from him, Vireo turns away, a little awkward now.

"So can I like… _go_ or _–"_

The proctor _shakes_ with rage.

" _Leave."_

_-_

_-_

_-_

"You know" Jodie says, slinging an arm around Vireo's shoulder. "That blade wasn't tournament issue."

She blinks. "What."

Jodie lights another cigarette "The blade. We bought it for you. Was. Not. Cheap." she cocks a grin. "As in, you weren't supposed to ditch it."

Vireo glances over her shoulder, catching sight of Richey Rich storming towards one of the benches reserved for active combatants.

"Do you… do you think they'd let me go back for it?"

The two of them let that mental image play out for a while.

They laughed and laughed.

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**Author's Note:**

> This is an old, old couple of snippits that I posted a while back. They are here because I think that's more convenient than trawling through the index thread. 
> 
> Corvo is Italian from 'corvo', meaning 'raven' or 'rook'.
> 
> Appropriately 'Vireo' is a Latin word referring to a green migratory bird.


End file.
